


Return to Sender

by skivvysupreme



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4921384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt's shifts at the Spotlight Diner keep turning into complete trainwrecks, and it's all the hot UPS guy's fault. Sort of. (Though, in all fairness, Kurt has always had a certain weakness for men in uniforms.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return to Sender

Rachel drops a pen. That’s how it starts.

Kurt’s on his way to one of his tables with a pot of hot coffee and a strawberry milkshake for the father/daughter pair seated near the front of the Spotlight Diner. The day has been steady so far, no problem customers, nothing too crazy or out of the ordinary to speak of.

Until he hears it.

It isn’t Rachel’s over-dramatically surprised, “Oh, how clumsy of me!” that catches Kurt’s attention, or even the heavy thud of a box being set on the floor. It’s the sweet laugh and rich, low, “Allow me” that does it.

Kurt glances towards the door just in time to spot a full, round ass and muscular thighs in a pair of snug brown shorts. The UPS guy, bent over in front of a very pleased-looking Rachel, has set down the heavy cardboard box he’s delivering to retrieve the stylus for his signing pad.

Kurt bangs into his intended table with a loud, metallic rattle as the table scratches a couple inches across the floor. The milkshake slips from his fingers and falls to the tabletop, splattering thick pink liquid and whipped cream all over the surface.

“Shit!” The curse escapes Kurt on reflex and the man at the table glares at him.

The girl, no older than 10, groans, “Oh nooo,” and reaches for the napkin holder at the side of the table.

“I’m so sorry, we’ll get this cleaned up and I’ll get you a new milkshake right away,” Kurt says, giving his most apologetic smile to the customers. He runs back to the bar as one of the busboys comes over to clean up. The entire restaurant stares at him as he rushes to make another shake; Kurt tries to pay them no mind, but his face is nearly red enough to match his uniform.

“Nice one, Kurt,” Santana remarks, popping a french fry into her mouth. She’s on her break, eating a burger and watching Kurt hurriedly gather ingredients with an amused smirk on her face. “Thanks for making my break more interesting.”

“I aim to please,” Kurt snaps, scooping ice into the blender. “Shit. There goes my tip.”

“I thought that went pretty well, all things considered,” says a smooth male voice that most definitely does not belong to Santana.

It’s him.

IT’S HIM.

Kurt looks up from the blender. Oh god, the UPS guy is even more attractive than Kurt could have imagined from his brief rear view.

“At least they didn’t freak out, right?” he continues, a bright, sympathetic smile spreading across his face as he sets the box on the bar. He has warm olive skin and neat black hair, both of which frame his big amber eyes in a way that makes every color of his irises pop. And—okay, his eyebrows are a little intimidating, but he looks so sweet, and—oh, wait, the eyebrows are lowering and his smile’s going away, what—?

Santana reaches over the bar and knocks gently on the side of Kurt’s head. “HEY. KURT. Anyone home in there today?”

Kurt blinks, realizing with a glance at the scoop of ice cream that has fallen off his spoon and is now melting on the countertop below, that he has been staring at the UPS guy in stunned silence for a solid 20 seconds. He wonders if it’s worth it to just abandon the half-prepared milkshake and hide in the kitchen until he leaves.

Thankfully, Rachel appears on the UPS guy’s other side and chirps, “If you could bring that to the supply room in the back, actually, that would be great of you. I can show you!” She takes the UPS guy’s attention for a bit, momentarily relieving Kurt’s mortification.

He busies himself with the milkshake again, his face burning, mindlessly hurrying through the remaining ingredients and moving to turn the blender on, until—

“Whoa, hold on there!” Then there’s a warm, tan hand on top of Kurt’s, preventing him from starting the blender.

Kurt freezes at the touch, then watches as the UPS guy moves Kurt’s hand to the blender’s lid, which is still sitting on the counter next to the tub of ice cream. “Don’t want another disaster,” he says, his voice much softer when he smiles at Kurt. He lets go and rests his hand on the bar.

Kurt can’t help it; he giggles nervously and sighs, “I don’t think that’s avoidable. I’m a disaster unto myself, apparently.”

“ _Apparently_ , you don’t give yourself enough credit,” the UPS guy replies, his eyes crinkling as his smile widens. He lowers his voice and adds, “Shit happens. It’ll be okay.” Then he straightens up, lifts the big cardboard box again, and strolls to the supply room.

Kurt watches him go.

“Well, Kurt, I was trying my hardest, but I think you might be more his type,” Rachel grins.

Santana’s ensuing low, delighted cackle is the most sinister sound Kurt has heard in some time.

*****

“Kurt, can you grab the mail? I’m on stage next and everyone has tables.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at Santana; he’s on his break and this has been an exceptionally trying and tiring day. “Yeah, I’ll get it,” he says, spinning on his bar stool and walking towards the entrance. For some reason, it doesn’t occur to him that Hot UPS Guy would be back, but when Kurt sees him, he feels his face flush immediately at the sight. On instinct, Kurt turns away to try and collect himself, until he realizes how strange he must look and turns back around.

He’s as hot as Kurt remembers from that awful afternoon two days ago.

“Good afternoon!” Hot UPS Guy says, lifting up the mid-sized box he’s delivering in one arm and his signing pad in the other. “How’s it going today?”

“Terribly,” Kurt admits, his heart quickening now that they’re close. He is acutely aware that with any other stranger, he would have merely given a polite “fine” and moved on. Something about this man makes Kurt want to bare his soul (and a few other things) all at once. Shrugging, Kurt adds, “I’m definitely ready to go home.”

“His place or ours?” Rachel whispers, passing by with a few plates balanced on her arms.

The only indication Hot UPS Guy makes that he’s heard her—because of course he heard her, because Rachel’s voice projects like that’s all it knows how to do—is a crooked little grin at his feet. His smile widens when he sees how round Kurt’s bright blue-green eyes have gone. He holds out his signing pad and says, “Just need your John Hancock.”

“That’s not the only _cock_ of yours that he needs,” Santana drawls on her way to the stage, tossing the comment over her shoulder like it isn’t about to give Kurt an aneurysm.

Hot UPS Guy seems to choke on his own spit for a second, hastily turning his sudden cough into an awkward chuckle and hoisting the box against his hip.

“I am so sorry about them. There were slim pickings for friends back in Ohio,” Kurt spits furiously, making sure he’s loud enough for both Santana and Rachel to hear. If he doesn’t stop blushing soon, he’s pretty sure his face is just going to explode.

“Ohio? No way, me too! Small world. Though, not small enough to have met you there, haha.”

“It’s not a tiny state,” Kurt breathes. Damn, that smile on Hot UPS Guy’s face is _blinding._

A fast R&B beat starts suddenly; Santana, launching into her song, pops her hips with the rhythm and sings, _"Kurt's milkshake brings all the boys to the yard—"_

Kurt scrawls a quick, cursive “KHummel" across the signing pad, snatches the package from Hot UPS Guy's hands, and turns on his heel, all but running to the stock room.

It's a shame Kurt doesn't look back. Hot UPS Guy stands there clutching his signing pad to his chest, staring in Kurt’s direction long after he's disappeared into the back of the restaurant.

*****

"Kurt, please, it's been two days! The silent treatment is childish, don't you think?"

"I don’t know why I brought Ohio friendships with me to New York. I should have known they would bring that old Ohio humiliation and obnoxiousness with them," Kurt replies, his tone coldly casual as he wipes down the bar without sparing Rachel a glance. How's that for breaking his silence?

Santana makes a disgruntled noise and throws her dirty towel on the counter right where Kurt has just cleaned it. "Don’t be such an ungrateful drama queen. We got his attention for you. We're helping."

"It's true, Kurt!" Rachel exclaims, grabbing onto his arm and making her big brown eyes even bigger. "You didn't see the way he looked at you when you ran off."

"Like I'm a clumsy creeper with even creepier friends, I expect. Santana, your comment was foul, I can't believe the things you say to people."

She just shrugs. "It can't be foul if it’s accurate."

Kurt looks at Rachel, his rage abating for a moment as he considers.

"You didn’t see-eeee," she repeats, singing as she lays her head against his shoulder and gives him puppy eyes. "But, listen, let me make it up to you, for any embarrassment you felt. Want to duet with me? Dust off our old Barbra/Judy act from Glee club? Come on, we're always okay after we sing it out."

He sighs. Rachel was the least offensive that day, he has to admit. "All right, let's sing. But _you_ ," he says, arching an eyebrow at Santana, "I'm still mad at you."

"I know I'm right, so I’m fine with that," Santana smirks, sauntering away to check on her tables.

Up on stage, Kurt raises the second microphone to his height, preparing to sing, when Rachel leans away from her mic stand and whispers, “Kurt, look! H.U.G. alert!”

“Hug? What?”

Rachel jerks her head towards the entrance. Hot UPS Guy is walking into the diner with a small box tucked under his arm.

"He'll get to hear you sing! He won't be able to resist you after that!"

Kurt's heart pounds against his ribcage when he sees Santana making her way over to him to sign for the packages. Well, whatever Santana ends up saying to him, Kurt knows that he can at least distract with his voice. "Happy Days Are Here Again" is one of his favorite duets with Rachel, and if he knows anything, it's the strength of his own unique voice. And at least, this time, there won’t be any ridiculously pointed songs.

Rachel suddenly darts off the stage, whispering to the busboy controlling the speaker system, and jumps back on stage before Kurt can react.

“Rachel?”

The music starts, and Rachel takes hold of her mic and sings, _“Oh yes, wait a minute, Mister Postman!”_

Kurt’s stomach drops.

_“Wai-ai-ai-ait Mister Postman!”_

And, because she widens her eyes at Kurt in a frightening sort of way and nods at his mic to make it clear that she won’t sing the next part, Kurt has to join.

_“Hey Mister Postman, look and see! Is there a letter in the mail for me?”_

_“Please, pleeeease, Mister Postman!”_

Santana’s laughing so hard that she’s actually crying.

Hot UPS Guy, though… Kurt can’t decipher the look on his face at first, his pink mouth dropped open in blank shock. He’s staring right at Kurt—not at Rachel, not looking at both of them, just Kurt, his gaze wide-eyed and unwavering. Kurt certainly has his attention.

So, Kurt does the only thing he knows how to do with attention. He straightens his back, grabs the mic in both hands, and performs. He gently swings his hips with the beat, playing up a cute, pouty attitude as he begs the postman for a letter. He knows the song is technically about waiting for a letter from a significant other, and not the postman himself, but Kurt turns on the charm regardless.

Before Kurt knows it, Rachel has given him the lead on the song, and he isn’t even bothering to sing to anyone but Hot UPS Guy. Which is fine, because Hot UPS Guy isn’t even acknowledging Santana as she takes the small package from his arm and tries to give him back the signing pad. His lips are curled in a tiny little smile that somehow lights up his whole face as he bobs up and down, dancing gently to the music.

That’s the only signal Kurt needs to let himself _really_ get into the performance. He starts to swivel his hips more purposefully, giving Hot UPS Guy flirty, kittenish looks. But the song ends quickly, and much sooner than Kurt would like, the performance is over, several customers clapping loudly for him and for Rachel as they take their bows.

Kurt lifts his head and looks towards the entrance to the diner.

Hot UPS Guy glances at his watch, takes the signing pad, and bolts out of the diner, leaving a very confused and alarmed Santana and a Kurt who suddenly wants to sink beneath the stage and let it swallow him whole.

“Oh! Well.” Rachel waves a hand towards the door.  “He probably just had to get to the rest of his deliveries. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

Kurt nods, and swallows hard, trying to convince himself that she’s right. “Yeah, that’s probably it. I’ll… I’ll see him tomorrow.”

*****

Hot UPS Guy hasn’t been back to the diner in two weeks.

“I blew it,” Kurt sighs into his coffee. “I scared him off and now he’s never coming back.”

Santana sits down next to Kurt at the bar, her mouth pulled in a sympathetic frown. “Maybe he just got assigned to a different route.”

“I bet he did. I bet he went to his boss and asked to be reassigned because he was being sexually harassed by some desperate waiter and his creepy friends.” Kurt drops his head onto his folded arms with a miserable moan. “I thought we connected for a second, but… I guess he just liked the song. I never even learned his name.”

“Okay, first of all: he was into you. You, not just the music. Second: we’re not creepy. Well, I’m not, but Berry’s always been a little _Fatal Attraction_. Anyway, we really thought we were helping. You spend so much time alone. I mean, when’s the last time you went on a date? Or got laid? How long has it been since Adam?”

Kurt hasn’t gotten laid, ever. A brief semi-relationship with an older classmate didn’t change that. Santana knows all of this.

“Just let me wallow in this rejection and enjoy my solitude, Santana,” Kurt says, turning away from her and taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m fine with being alone. I’m good at it.”

Santana, in a rare show of backing off, slides off her barstool and leaves him alone.

“Good evening, Spotlight Diner! How is everyone tonight?” Rachel calls from the stage, beaming at the customers. A few whoop and whistle in response. “Thank you, thank you. I am Rachel Berry, as some of you may know, and I would like to present a very special guest performance from a longtime friend of the diner. He doesn’t work here, but he asked if we’d let him sing, and we couldn’t possibly say no!”

Kurt takes another, longer sip of his coffee. He hopes this guy is good, but either way, this might be a nice distraction from his ennui.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… Blaine Anderson!”

It isn’t the soft gasp and awed “holy shit” from Santana that makes Kurt look up. It’s the sweet, murmured, “Thank you, Rachel” and the rich, low, “Hi, everyone,” that does it.

Kurt thinks he might be hallucinating.

It’s him. Hot UPS Guy— _Blaine_ —has returned, only he’s dressed adorably as himself, in a mustard yellow cardigan, dark brown polo, and dark jeans that are pegged at his ankles. He smiles at everyone nearest to the stage before extending his gaze farther back through the restaurant, towards the bar. He looks straight at Kurt and says, “I hope you like what I’ve got to say.”

The first six twangy, instantly identifiable notes of the song come through the speakers, and then Blaine _wails_ , and Kurt finds himself covering his toothy grin with one hand, barely able to let himself believe it.

_“Like a fool, I went and stayed too long. Now I’m wondering if your love’s still strong. Oooh baby, here I am! Signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours!”_

Rachel is literally bouncing next to the stage.

_“Then that time I went and said goodbye, now I’m back and not ashamed to cry! Oooh baby, here I am! Signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours!”_

Blaine’s voice is incredible, and he’s got the stage presence to match. He switches his hips back and forth to the beat, purses his lips around every _oooh_ , smiles widely with every _aaah_ , and maneuvers the mic stand smoothly between his hands. He’s obviously comfortable up there, and it doesn’t take any time at all for the crowd to respond. But Blaine’s not looking at the crowd. He doesn’t take his eyes off Kurt for a single second. Curious customers start to follow his gaze, and before long, everyone in the diner is looking back and forth between Kurt and Blaine.

Some are just staring at Kurt, watching his delighted, giddy reaction with smiles on their faces.

_“Here I am, baby! Whoa-oh, you got the future in your hands! Ah, here I am, baby!”_

Kurt hops off his barstool and makes his way towards the stage. He stands in the center aisle of the restaurant, clapping along to the beat as Blaine sings to him, his smile wide and unrestrained in a way that Kurt rarely allows.

_“Oooh wee, babe, you set my soul on fire! That’s why I know you’re my heart’s only desire! Oooh baby, here I am! Signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours!”_

Kurt knows his cheeks are flushed, knows he’s giggling loudly and at random with the sheer force of this happy surprised gurgling _thing_ that’s happening in his stomach, knows everyone in the restaurant is staring at them—but, really, what does any of that matter? Blaine’s eyes on Kurt have only gotten more intense now that he’s close to the stage. The only thing either can see is each other.

By the time the song ends, Kurt’s face hurts from grinning so hard.

Blaine jumps off the stage and walks right up to him, breathing a little hard and suddenly looking a little nervous now that the music’s stopped. “So… I’m sorry if that was completely crazy and embarrassing…”

Kurt has a million things he wants to say, but he settles on, “Where’d you go?” and hopes it doesn’t sound as needy and desperate as he thinks.

“Oh, the mail thing was a temporary job. I’ve started classes at NYU. But I, um… I’ve thought about you every day since I stopped coming here, and that day when you sang, when I had to run to my other deliveries, you were _unreal_ up there, I thought—I don’t know, it just seemed like we connected, you know?”

“I know. I thought so, too.”

“Are you busy right now? Well, obviously you’re busy, you’re at work. I meant, are you on a  break? Or—I’m sorry if this whole thing was really forward, I’ve had bad experiences trying to serenade people in their workplaces, but I just needed to—”

Kurt, sensing that Blaine’s confidence onstage might not transfer to his regular, speaking life, takes Blaine’s hand, lifts it to his mouth, and kisses it, surprising Blaine out of his panicked babbling.

Blaine laughs, half startled and half at himself, and drops his chin to his chest. “Oh, geez… I’m so much better in song than I am in person.”

“You’re someone I’d like to get to know either way. Can we start with the basics?” Kurt doesn’t let go of Blaine’s hand, and Blaine doesn’t pull away.

In fact, he takes a step closer. “Hi. I’m Blaine.”

“Hi, Blaine. I’m Kurt.”

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr prompted: "Kurt being teased by his coworkers for his super obvious crush on hot UPS guy Blaine"


End file.
